If Love Is Surrender
by Anthony Stark
Summary: A Poetry ish thing from Ed's POV, Ed get's captured, and raped, and Roy comes to the rescue!


if love is surrender, then who's war is it anyway?

Sweet Kisses, placed across burning skin, light caresses, and dark looks, these were their methods of torture.  
Soft cries of perfect ecstasy, forced from captive throats, flashing eyes in dark rooms, with strange noises, and loud ragged sobs, "Let me go," echoes feebly from dry cracked lips, followed by pained cries, cries of pleasure mixed with a pain so intense it matters not that they might feel good at the same time. Tears mingle with sweat and blood, tangled hair, in long matted strands, sticking to burning bodies, rough blindfolds, scratching once smooth skin...

When I was brought here I had thoughts of saving them, all of them, and now look at me.  
Chained upright, body slick with sweat, dried blood coating places that hurt worse than any pain I had before received, my glowing golden eyes slowly growing dim. My light is fading, leaving me a shell of the one I used to be, tongues and lips caress me, and I squirm in disgust, but I no longer scream, I no longer yell, or kick, or struggle, I squirm, but only a tiny amount, because they've made me too weak to fight back, too weak to scream.  
My throat is shredded on the inside from the first few months, my lips are chapped, bruised and swollen from their rough kisses, and coerse gags. I can no longer see correctly, I see dim shapes moving in the darkness, hear the scurrying feet of tiny animals, then I feel them scamper over me as I lay limp and unmoving on the damp, moldy floor where I have been dropped.

What has happened to me? Where has my determination gone? Why can't I think? and where is He?  
Not God, I am not speaking of God, I am speaking, or thinking...about Him. He is the reason I held on the first two months of my newest captivity, his face swims in my mind, and I begin to cry, the sobs make my throat feel worse, but the tears make me feel liberated. I miss Him so.

I won't surrender to them. Not even now, when they have switched from false words and rape to hot metal spikes and cold leather whips, not now, not ever, because, someday I will see His face again, and He will save me...I will never surrender.

Light...it's so bright it hurts my eyes, I can't see...is this a new torture? to blind us with such intense light it feels like we're dying? No. My eyes are adjusting no...and I see an outline...a familiar outline.  
"Edward..." That's all I hear, the name He calls me, the name which sounds strange because of the sobs in his voice, the sadness I can feel coming off of him in palpable waves, the pain and guilt and hurt that He couldn't reach me sooner. I feel His arms wrap around me, I see and hear other people getting the other prisoners out of here.  
But I don't care.

He lifts me up, I can feel His heat, His warmth, His love...permeating the air around me, thickening my breath, my will to live, and I wonder vaguely is this is really happening. But that thought drops off. Impossible, I think.

He's hugging me, squeezing me, apologizing over and over, whispering of love, and happiness in my ear, then I feel Him turn my head with gentle fingers, and press His lips against mine, and suddenly I know I'm not dreaming. I force my eyes open all the way, ignoring the painfully bright lights, and I cling to Him, arms wrapping tight around his muscular chest and shoulders, lips pressing back against His, battling against the pain wracking my body, mixed with a sudden desire I shouldn't be feeling.

We're home now, I refused to leave him to go to the hospital, I can't stand not being in contact with him, we're laying in our bed, in our place, pressed against each other, staring into each others' eyes, tears are stinging the cuts on my cheeks, but I can't stop crying, I'm clinging, my nails are probably digging into his skin, but neither of us cares enough to pull away, it's hot and sweaty, and I feel muggy and sicl, but I won't stop holding him...

if love is surrender, then who's war is it anyway?


End file.
